The Hubris of Indifference: Abandoned Punjab

 

Punjab. Yes, Punjab. The land that once champion of Green Revolution, that filled Delhi’s plates, that supplied grain for war and peace alike. Today? Reduced to standing in Delhi’s darbar with a begging bowl. And the darbar—majestic, distracted, full of hubris—barely glances. Punjab, it seems, is now the unwanted child of the Republic. A state tolerated, not embraced.

Consider the floods. Villages drowned, crops ruined, forty-six lives lost, more than 1.5 lakh people affected. Punjab was gasping, but the Prime Minister? He was campaigning elsewhere, cameras clicking, slogans soaring. His Punjab visit came later, reluctantly, perfunctorily, as if someone in the “royal secretariat” pencilled it into the diary. Contrast this with Indira Gandhi. Whatever her motives, when bombs fell or borders bled, she rushed to Punjab. Yes, it was theatre, yes, it was for cameras—but Punjabis felt seen. Today, the subliminal message is crystal: Punjab’s pain is optional.

The Guardian—a London paper, not Delhi—called these the “worst floods in three decades.” Farmers stranded on rooftops without food, without clean water, without electricity. But Delhi’s response? As if measured out with a dropper. Too little, too late.

And when Punjab’s own politicians shout, it still barely registers in Delhi. Leader of Opposition Partap Singh Bajwa thundered: “Both Modi and the state government abandoned the annadatas.” A BJP insider, Parminder Mehta, quit in disgust, accusing the Centre of step-motherly treatment. He said what many whisper: Punjab is no longer loved; it is tolerated.

Now, let’s talk numbers, because neglect is not just emotional—it is economic. Punjab was once India’s agricultural powerhouse. Today, it is in the economic ICU. Professor Ranjit Singh Ghuman’s study shows that between 2014–15 and 2022–23, Punjab’s GSDP grew at just 4.62%. The national average? 5.67%. Agriculture, which was 57% of Punjab’s economy in 1970, is now down to 23%. Over 14000 industrial units closed down in Punjab during the pandemic reports Hindustan Times, this included over 400 large units. Youth unemployment? A staggering 26%.

And the debt mountain—crippling. Punjab’s debt-to-GSDP ratio is 46.6%. By March 2025, liabilities will hit ₹3.78 lakh crore. Forty-one percent of Punjab’s revenue goes into debt servicing. Another 57% into salaries, pensions, subsidies. What is left for development? Nothing. Dust. Empty coffers. Empty promises.

Indira Gandhi’s arrogance was gilded with urgency. She at least played the theatre of leadership. Modi Ji, by contrast, believes in a colder arrogance—the arrogance of indifference. Ignore Punjab, and maybe it will still survive. After all, won’t the diaspora keep wiring dollars from Toronto, Surrey, New York? Won’t the NRIs in London and Vancouver keep sending remittances? That is the calculation.

But Punjab’s marginalization is not just about money or floods. It is cultural too. Look at cinema. In today’s India, films like The Kashmir Files or The Kerala Story are promoted as nationalist epics. They are subsidized, given tax breaks, celebrated from podiums. But when it comes to Punjab 95—a film about Jaswant Singh Khalra, the man who exposed mass human rights violations during militancy—what happens? Silence. Blocking. A ban. As if the film itself is a threat to “national interest.”

Director Honey Trehan believes people in power think: “A real-life hero cannot be from a minority community.” That one line says it all. Punjab’s heroes do not fit Delhi’s script. Its pain does not align with the ruling party’s narrative. Trehan claims his producer was informally advised by “people in power” to simply write off the film. Erase it. Erase Khalra. Erase Punjab’s inconvenient truths.

This is not neglect by accident. It is neglect by design. Punjab’s sacrifices in history are written out. Its cultural voices silenced. Its farmers dismissed. Its economic wounds ignored. Step-motherly treatment is almost a policy.

And here is the irony: Punjab feeds India. It produces 1% of the world’s rice, 2% of its wheat. The so-called “breadbasket of India.” Yet its farmers today struggle to feed their own families. The diaspora sends money, but what do they send it into? Flooded fields. Broken houses. Youth with no jobs. Leaders who posture, but no Delhi hand to hold them.

Let us be blunt. When Kerala floods, the Centre rushes. When Afghanistan has an earthquake, Delhi tweets sympathy within hours. But when Punjab drowns, Delhi calculates. Measures. Delays. When Kerala and Bengal get their “files” in cinema, Punjab’s 95 is buried. If this is not step-motherly treatment, what is?

Indira Gandhi, for all her faults, played the role of leader when Punjab bled. Modi, on the other hand, plays the role of absentee landlord—silent, cold, unmoved. Both assumed Punjab would endure. Indira threw crumbs of consolation. Modi offers silence and erasure.

But Punjab cannot afford patience anymore. Its diaspora angry and annoyed. Its farmers cannot carry the nation on their shoulders while their own children starve. Its cultural voices cannot be silenced because they do not fit Delhi’s script. This is not only geography—it is emotional geography. And the message must be sent loud and clear: the land that once filled India’s granaries cannot be left empty, ignored, and erased.

If Punjab continues to be treated as stepchild, the wound will not just be economic. It will be emotional. And those wounds, once deepened, rarely heal. Delhi’s arrogance may believe silence will suffice. But Punjab’s heartbeat is loud. And one day, it will force itself back into the nation’s conscience.

https://theprint.in/national-interest/punjab-is-fast-becoming-the-new-northeast-and-theres-a-message-in-it-for-modi/2737025/

https://www.hindustantimes.com/cities/chandigarh-news/during-covid-crises-over-14-000-industries-closed-down-in-punjab-101633463596064.html?utm_source=chatgpt.com